Mother was browsing through the store. It was the end of the month. I remember weaving in and out of the racks of clothes playing hide and seek, trying to stay one aisle ahead of Mother. In my playing, I glanced up, and the bright white handlebars of a red tricycle caught my eye. The price also stood out on a yellow tag: $5.75. Mesmerized, I played underneath the display. The bike was located on the clothes rack above me. I just wanted to be near it.
I called out, “Mommy.” Mother looked at me, and I waved at her. I wanted her to come and see the bike. She only waved back and continued to browse.
In frustration, I sat on the floor beneath the display with legs tucked and my arms around my knees. My eyes began to tear as I sobbed quietly. I really wanted the bike but knew that it was expensive. I had never wanted anything as much as I wanted that bike. I could hear Mama saying something like, “You need that like a hole in the head,” or “We really can’t afford it” or even “Maybe next time.” Next time would never come. I felt a knot in my stomach for wanting the bike so badly.
The storekeeper came by and noticed me on the floor. “What’s wrong, little girl? Are you okay?”
The clerk was getting confused, and I could only respond to each question with a shaking of my head, embarrassed.
“Where’s your mother?” said the clerk. I pointed towards Mother in the adjacent aisle. Noticing the commotion, Mother finally walked over. As she approached, I could not help but sob even louder.
Bending down, Mother pulled me to her. “What’s wrong, Jen? Why are you crying?”
I was ashamed, but I pointed upward. “The bike. Do you want the bike?” she continued.
I couldn’t talk. The words wouldn’t come out. I was speechless. The clerk got a stepladder and gently brought the bike to the floor. I sobbed more quietly as I continued to stare at it.
The clerk spoke to Mother. “The bike is almost new. It came in yesterday.”
“The price is a bit high. Can you give us a better price?” Mother responded in a tone which implied that the bike was an expense she would rather not incur.
I slowly touched the handlebars; they were smooth to the touch. Easily reaching the pedals, I began to ride around in a circle.
Then, Mother sighed. “Oh, well… I’ll pay for it… I’ll get her the bike.”
“Can she ride it around until I’m ready to go?” Mother asked.
“I’d rather not,” the clerk said. “She is a little hazardous.”
“O.K., we’ll be leaving then.”
Mother wrote a check for the bike and a bag of clothes. She looked at me sternly but kindly. “Jeannie, you will have to ride the bike all the way home. I can’t help you because I need to carry the bag.”
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